


winter friends are friends forever

by lazyfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Advent 2018, F/M, Jewish Leo Fitz, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-05 01:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16801246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: 25 days of December fic, featuring all of our favorite agents.Newest update:i wish i had a river, Hunter-centric.





	1. there's a fire that's warm and i will be waiting

Mack is cold - very cold. The rental car they’d gotten from the airport doesn’t have a good heating system, which is a problem in the dead of winter. It had been the only one available, though, and he wasn’t going to say no to transportation, especially since he wasn’t sure they’d be able to get a cab. Not many people wanted to be working on Christmas Eve, but a lot of people wanted to be going places - going home. 

That’s where he’s going, too. He’s going home, and taking Elena with him. The thought is the only thing that gives him even a scrap of warmth. He flexes his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to keep them from going totally numb. Elena’s spent the better part of the drive complaining that he’s going too slowly, but she’s also unwilling to drive in snow, so they’re stuck with him and his turtle pace.

Mack’s phone buzzes, and Elena reaches over to grab it and read the text.

“They’ve started a fire,” Elena tells him, suppressing the chattering of her teeth. “They’re waiting.” She doesn’t need to say drive faster for him to hear it. Mack hates to admit it, but he does give the car a little more gas - probably more than is safe when driving in limited visibility. He just wants to be there already.

Fifteen minutes later he’s even colder, but they’re almost to their destination. The street they’re winding through is strung with lights that are barely visible through the haze of snowflakes. Elena’s squinting at the numbers on the mailboxes, trying to figure out which house they’re supposed to pull up to. 

It’s infinitely obvious which one it is when they get there, though. The driveway’s been cleared and the lamp on the front porch is on, casting a warm orange glow through the darkness. Elena’s halfway out of the car before Mack even kills the engine, and he’s close behind her. They can get their bags out later. 

Elena’s already rung the doorbell by the time Mack makes it to the front door, and a moment later Bobbi’s opening it. Mack’s chest floods with something utterly unidentifiable as she ushers them inside. 

Mack’s not expecting the wall of muscle that bowls into him, but he doesn’t lose his footing as Hunter wraps him in a warm hug. “Hey,” Mack greets softly. He squeezes Hunter before drawing back, curving his hand around the back of Hunter’s neck with intention of giving his boyfriend a kiss. Hunter flinches away from him with a yelp, though.

“Your hands are bloody cold, Mack!” Hunter says indignantly. Rather than grumble about how he’s never touching Mack again, though, Hunter reaches for his hands. “Give.” His tone leaves no room for arguments, and Mack offers his hands up to his boyfriend without complaint. Hunter’s hands are pleasantly warm, and feeling returns to Mack’s hands as Hunter slowly massages his fingers to get the blood back into them.

Hunter bends over to breathe a gust of warm air over Mack’s knuckles before brushing a kiss there. Mack squeezes Hunter’s hands softly, a different kind of heat filling him when Hunter looks up at him with his hot whiskey eyes.

“Jesus, you two,” Bobbi mutters when she catches sight of them. “Can you wait three minutes before giving each other bedroom eyes?”

Mack’s not sure who starts laughing first, but the sound of it fills the space until he’s almost drunk on it. Mack had always been of the (slightly cheesy) opinion that Christmas was more of a feeling than a day, and this - this feels like Christmas.

“Come on,” Hunter says, tugging on Mack’s hands. “The fire’s not going to watch itself.” The four of them migrate to the living room. Hunter and Bobbi hadn’t just started a fire; it’s a proper blaze that fills the whole room with warmth. There are stockings hung above the hearth, too, and Mack’s stomach flips when he sees the one labelled with his name and a heart. Hunter had obviously drawn the spiky, lopsided heart, and Mack loves it even more.

Elena and Hunter are settled on the couch, Elena in Hunter’s lap and a blanket draped haphazardly over both of them. Hunter’s making a show of warming up Elena’s hands - a much harder feat since they’re made of metal. 

“Jealous?” Bobbi asks as she sits in the empty space next to him.

“Nah,” Mack says, lifting Bobbi into his lap. “I’ve got my own cuddle buddy.” He pauses. “Though I could use a blanket.” Even with the roar of the fire and Bobbi’s body heat on top of him, he still feels a little chilled.

“First, you’re never allowed to call me your cuddle buddy again,” Bobbi says. She reaches behind him to grab a blanket off the back of the couch, unfurling it expertly. She tucks it over Mack’s shoulders, allowing the rest of the blanket to settle around them easily. 

“What term would you prefer?” Mack asks. “Hand warmer?” He sticks his hands under Bobbi’s sweater, and even though Hunter had done an admirable job warming them, they’re still cold on the skin of her stomach.

“Mack!” Bobbi squeals in a distinctly un-Bobbi-like manner. “Don’t be a dick!”

“I thought you liked his dick?” Elena leers at her.

“Shut up,” Bobbi says with a roll of her eyes. 

“What?” Mack asks, leaning in close so only she can hear him. “Do you not?”

“You know I do,” Bobbi answers, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “How couldn’t I?”

“Kiss! Kiss!” Elena and Hunter chorus from their side of the couch. It’s rare that Bobbi and Mack will be so handsy with each other; normally Elena and Hunter are the ones instigating… well, everything. Bobbi humors them, tilting her head so she can plant her lips on Mack’s. Mack can’t help the low groan that rumbles out of his throat. Bobbi’s lips are soft and warm and taste like peppermint and hope. 

“What was that about bedroom eyes, hmm?” Elena asks with arched eyebrows.

“Hush,” Bobbi mutters, cheeks pink. 

“Can you go add another log to the fire, love?” Hunter asks, nudging Elena.

“No, let it burn down,” Bobbi says before Elena can rise. “We can start another in the morning.” Mack thought it had hit him before, but it really hadn’t: tonight, he gets to sleep next to all of his lovers - who, incidentally, are all his best friends, too. He gets to wake up next to them in the morning. He gets to spend the next week with them.

Now, five minutes after midnight, with Bobbi in his lap and Hunter and Elena at his side, it is finally Christmas.


	2. i made it out of clay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzsimmons and Huntingbird play dreidel (No Maveth AU)

Fitz is vibrating with excitement as they walk to the common room of the base, and Jemma can’t help but smile at how happy he is. He’s carrying more bags of gelt than is probably necessary for two people playing dreidel, but why would she complain over more chocolate to eat? (Jemma always wins dreidel. She doesn’t know how, but she always does. It probably would make Fitz angrier if she wasn’t such a gracious and generous winner.)

Fitz plops down on the common room floor. The concrete isn’t that comfortable for sitting on, but it’s smooth and level - in other words, excellent for dreidel spinning. Jemma shivers when she thinks of the time they had tried to play dreidel on the moving Bus. That had been nothing short of a nightmare, and the one time she had almost lost the game. 

Jemma’s just finished distributing the gelt between the two of them when Hunter wandered into the common room, Bobbi trailing behind him.

“Dreidel!?” Hunter asks. He looks almost as excited as Fitz had earlier, and Jemma raises her eyebrows. Hunter hadn’t ever mentioned being Jewish before - but then again, she hadn’t known Fitz was until after they had been classmates for two years.

“Yeah!” Fitz exclaims back, obviously feeding off of Hunter’s energy. “Want to play?”

“ _ Yes _ !” Hunter plops himself down, and Jemma immediately starts recounting the gelt to include him. It’s good that he came when he did. They could’ve restarted to allow him in, of course, but Fitz had always been particular about his dreidel games. He was certain that there was bad luck associated with stopping a game halfway through, and Jemma was more than happy to indulge him, even if the belief in dreidel karma was scientifically shaky. 

“Bobbi, are you playing?” Jemma asks politely.

“Why not,” Bobbi says. She frowns slightly, obviously trying to figure out how to maneuver herself to the floor with her injured knee. 

“Here, love,” Hunter says, reaching up for her. She drops into his lap, and then promptly scoots off of him onto the floor. Jemma has to admit that while the system is unorthodox, it’s efficient. 

“You know how to play?” Fitz checks as Jemma redistributes the gelt. 

“I do; Bob doesn’t,” Hunter answers for both of them. 

“So are you… celebrating Hannukah?” Jemma asks tentatively. 

“Nah. But my best mate in the SAS was Jewish, and he could never get anyone to play dreidel with him, so I learned. And it seemed kind of selfish just to take part in the bits with the sweets, so I learned the prayers for the candles, too.” Hunter shrugs.

“Chag Sameach to him, then!” Fitz says jovially.

“Eh, not quite. His Yahrtzeit was last month,” Hunter says softly. Bobbi reaches over to stroke her hand through Hunter’s hair, and Jemma envies them the moment of closeness. Immediately after the jealousy, though, shame floods through her. Hunter had lost a friend, and his partner was comforting him. She certainly would do the same for Fitz.

“Ah,” Fitz says, nodding sagely. “Alav ha-shalom.”

Hunter nods, and that’s the end of that discussion. Jemma gives Bobbi a quick rundown of what each of the symbols on the dreidel means, watching as the blonde nods at each of them and their meanings. 

“Alright, let’s spin for firsties,” Jemma directs. They each take a turn. Bobbi spins nun, so she takes the first turn after they’ve all contributed one of their gelt to the pot.

“So have you already done your menorah?” Hunter asks as they begin taking turns around the circle. 

Fitz nods. It is, after all, after sundown. “You’re welcome to come tomorrow night if you want to light it with us,” he offers.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Hunter mutters as he spins the dreidel. He lands on the gimel, which is awfully convenient for him, since he has an excuse not to look at Fitz. 

“It really wouldn’t be an intrusion,” Fitz insists. “Jem doesn’t know the blessings, do you?”

Jemma shakes her head. It’s not that she hadn’t tried to learn the words for the candle lighting - she was, after all,  _ Jemma Simmons _ \- but the rhythm of them always managed to trip her up, and she hated how her stumbling ruined the poetry of Fitz’s recitation.

“Can I come, too?” Bobbi asks. She’s momentarily distracted when she spins shin for the third time in a row, crinkling her nose as she throws another gelt into the pot.

“Absolutely,” Fitz answers. “I didn’t know you would be interested, or I would’ve invited you earlier.” 

Hunter still hasn’t answered when the dreidel returns to his hands, and he purses his lips in concentration as he spins. Jemma can’t help but wonder what his hangup is, if not feeling as if he was intruding. 

“I’m not very good at this game,” Bobbi mutters as she forfeits another one of her gelt. “I know it’s all chance, but it feels an awful lot like a character flaw that I can’t manage to spin anything good.”

Fitz laughs at that, and Jemma’s cheeks warm with the blatant happiness on his face. Having more people to play dreidel with, even if it’s just two more, has put him in such a good mood. She reaches over to kiss his cheek, and her blush deepens as Bobbi whistles at them.

A few minutes pass in relative silence - the only sound is the crinkling of the gold foil on the gelt as they’re picked up and put down.

“Alright,” Hunter says abruptly. “I’ll light candles with you tomorrow.”

“Sundown is at five past five,” Jemma informs them. Hunter nods again, and the dreidel game resumes with markedly less tension in the air.

Less tension, that is, until Hunter begins accumulating more and more gelt, putting Jemma’s status as Perpetual Dreidel Winner in jeopardy. 

Bobbi, to no one’s surprise, is the first one to run out of coins.

“You can ask for a loan,” Fitz offers.

“I’ll just join Hunter’s team,” Bobbi says, brushing the offer off. “Whoever gives me a loan would just be wasting their time.”

“Sharing wealth. It’s almost like we’re married again,” Hunter teases as Bobbi moves to be closer to him. 

“Mmm, not likely, mister.”

“We should pool our resources, too, Fitz,” Jemma suggests. Not because she wants to marry Fitz - at least not at this juncture - but because she  _ really _ wants to beat Hunter.

“Not bloody likely,” Fitz answers. That’s when Jemma realizes: not only is she not winning, she’s  _ losing _ . Even Fitz has more gelt than she does! Jemma is considering what the efficacy of pouting would be when Hunter spins and once again lands on the gimel. She knows it’s childish, but Jemma can’t help but stick her tongue out at him.

She’s beginning to think that Bobbi’s bad luck has rubbed off on her, because a few turns later, Jemma is down to one gelt left. The pot is relatively large - there had been a streak of shins, and Hunter had spun a nun - and if she spins a gimel, then she’ll be in good shape.

She does not spin a gimel, nor does she spin a hei. She gets a shin, which means that for the first time in years, Jemma Simmons has lost a game of dreidel. She’s not sure who’s more shocked - her or Fitz.

From then it’s a fairly short game as Fitz loses his gelt. Maybe, Jemma thinks, Hunter rigged the dreidel. She’s not sure how, considering he’s only held it long enough to spin it, but she’s certain that’s the only explanation for her loss. Right?

“That’s all from me,” Fitz says as he tosses his last coin into the pile. “What are you going to do with your spoils, Hunter?”

Hunter looks at him extremely strangely. “Am I supposed to do something special? We always just split them after we finished the game.”

Jemma’s shoulders sag in relief. She’s not sure why she believed that the outcome would be any different, but it’s nice to know she’ll be getting some candy this year.

“No offense, mate, but I’m not sure I’d want to eat this much gelt anyways,” Hunter says, wrinkling his nose. “They don’t really taste like chocolate, do they?”

Fitz laughs again, the same belly laugh he had done earlier when Bobbi had lamented her inability to play, and happiness bubbles in Jemma’s stomach in the exact same way, too. 

“They taste more like corn syrup and sadness than chocolate, that’s true,” Fitz agrees after he’s caught his breath. “Thank you for playing with me, though. I haven’t had this much fun with dreidel in ages.” He shoots an apologetic look at Jemma, but she knows it’s not meant to be insulting. She had had much more fun tonight than she had years previous, even if she hadn’t won. 

It’s gotten relatively late over the course of their game, and Hunter and Bobbi hadn’t gotten to do whatever they came into the common room for, so Jemma and Fitz prepared to vacate the premises.

“Hannukah Sameach, Fitz,” Hunter calls after them as they exit the common room.

“Best night of Hannukah ever,” Fitz declares as they reach their bunk.

“I’d wait to say that,” Jemma cautions. “There’s still seven more to go.”

Fitz smiles even brighter then, and Jemma thinks it was definitely worth losing gelt over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [jewishfitz](http://jewishfitz.tumblr.com/) for sensitivity reading this for me!


	3. i wish i had a river

Hunter wakes up early that morning. He’s already been granted the day off by Coulson, much to his surprise. He had expected there to be some reprimand about how he couldn’t expect to take every holiday week off, but it hadn’t had come.

Hunter bundles himself up, since the Massachusetts weather isn’t forgiving this time of year. There’s at least a foot of snow on the ground and more forecasted, and he doesn’t want to come back in just because he’s cold. He wants to return when he’s got his head on straight. He jots a quick note to Bobbi to tell her where he’s going, but departs the base as quickly as he can.

There’s a Christmas carol playing somewhere in the empty hallways, and it stings. He manages to escape it, stepping out into the winter air. It smells like pine and the crisp, clean scent that only comes with snow.

There are lights strung on one of the trees. Hunter suspects that it’s to help agents find their way back to the base after going on walks like this one, but the lights still feel oddly out of place. Hunter still can’t quite register that Christmas is coming, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

Christmas was Izzy’s favorite time of year. Partly for the religious reasons - Hunter’s still amazed that she managed to believe in a god after seeing all the ugliness of the word - but also for other reasons. She had loved getting to bring her family together. Her whole family, not just her family by blood. Hunter had met more S.H.I.E.L.D. agents at Izzy’s holiday parties than he had being married to an agent for a year and a half. There had always been good food and good beer and so much joy.

He tries not to think too much about how Jane will be celebrating her Christmas alone this year. 

Hunter scuffs at the snow, pulling his scarf more tightly around his face when the wind gusts up around him. Even with his careful preparation the chill is still fighting its way down to his skin, but the cold is almost a welcome distraction.

Grief comes in waves. Everyone says that. He’s even experienced it himself before. It still feels like a sucker-punch to the stomach, though.

He’s celebrating Christmas without Izzy, and it doesn’t make sense. He had thought, once upon a time, that the reason he’d celebrate Christmas without Izzy was because he had divorced Bobbi and that Iz wouldn’t want anything to do with him after that. But he’d gotten an invitation, and he had gone. 

No invitation came this year, because Izzy wasn’t there to send them. Why is that such a weird concept? It’s been months since Izzy died. Long months - hard months. But  _ months _ . And he still can’t make himself believe he is living in a world without her.

His life has been… okay. He has Bobbi back, and that’s about the only reason that he isn’t planning to spend the whole week in an alcohol-induced stupor. But there’s still so much that he wants to get away from, so much he wants to leave behind. This year had been  _ so _ hard, and just a little bit he wants to fly away.

He’s not going to, of course, but it’s nice to allow himself the thought. 

It’s nice to know, too, that when it is his time to go, Izzy will be waiting for him. If he gets to haven, of course. If there  _ is _ a heaven.

Another gust of wind blows, as if reprimanding him for the thought. Hunter just shakes his head. He’ll never have Izzy’s ironclad faith. But he has her sense of humor. He has a photo of her in a desk drawer. And he has the memories - the good and the not-as-good.

Christmas won’t be the same without her.


	4. do you want to build a snowman

Phil knocks on Melinda’s door the afternoon after the first snowfall of the season.  _ Da da da-da da _ . “Do you want to build a -”

“Absolutely not.” She appears in the door with an unamused look on her face. But hey, at least she had opened it - that was better than Anna had ever gotten in the movie. 

Mel never can resist his charm for long, either. Sure, maybe she thinks he’s a giant dork, but he’s  _ her _ giant dork, and she’s going to build a snowman with him if it is the last thing he does. (Judging by the murder in Melinda’s eyes, there is a distinct possibility that this will end with his death. He’s oddly okay with that.)

“But you’re a Disney princess!”

“ _ No _ , I’m not!” Melinda insists, making to close the door. It’s too late, though - Phil’s already halfway inside her room, and not even May is willing to break Phil’s foot by slamming a door on it.

“So the woman in Mulan just  _ happens _ to sound like you?” Phil presses. “If I wanted to I bet I could find the S.H.I.E.L.D. file where you were assigned that mission!” He does have Fury’s toolbox. He doesn’t have enough time to look through every mission May ever completed, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s called a coincidence, Phil. Sometimes people have similar-sounding voices.” Melinda crosses her arms over her chest. “And that does not obligate me to build a snowman.”

“But… but…” He sticks his lower lip out.

“Choose something else to do.” Mel sighs. “But I’m not building a snowman.”


End file.
